


The Man That Came Back

by quantumoddity



Category: The Penumbra Podcast
Genre: Canon Compliant, Comfort, Heist, Heist in a fancy bar, Juno can Sing, Juno talks about his past, M/M, Other, lounge singer, soft jupeter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-05
Updated: 2020-05-05
Packaged: 2021-03-03 02:35:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,053
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24027499
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/quantumoddity/pseuds/quantumoddity
Summary: For the next part of their plan, a heist needs to be pulled off in the fanciest bar on Saturn. And Buddy knows exactly how Juno can disguise himself, much to the delight of Nureyev
Relationships: Peter Nureyev/Juno Steel
Comments: 20
Kudos: 244





	The Man That Came Back

"Captain, all due respect and everything but that’s got to be the most ridiculous idea I ever heard.”

Buddy gave him a more than slightly exhausted look over the building plans she was studying on her comms screen, “You know, darling, it would be incredibly helpful if that wasn’t your response to every single plan I put in front of you…”

Juno gave her one of his scowls, the ones where he pouted a little and scrunched up his face, where he knew he was being unreasonable but was going to be stubborn all the same, “Well, let’s just say this one tops the whole damn lot! I don’t even...how...how do you even imagine I’d be any good at this?”

Buddy seemed to be tuning him out for the most part, eyes returning to her screen as the floorplan of the bar rotated slowly, exactly where their marks would enter, meet and most likely leave plotted out in glowing lines, “From the data I gathered on you, same way I know not to send you to any job that may, for some unknown reason, take place in a seafood restaurant owing to your allergy to shellfish. I like to know my crew, young lady, their likes, dislikes, the skills they boast about...and the skills they don’t. Keeps things smooth, interesting and us alive.”

Juno had very little reply to that, still choking on the embarrassment he was hiding behind annoyance, “But...what kind of database has  _ that _ on file?”

“No database that I’ve ever heard of, darling, but you are aware that your high school yearbooks are also digitised and on file, easily accessible in the archives if one has no more information than your name?” 

Juno stalled at that, turning somehow redder, “And that was relevant when hiring me to be a space pirate, was it?”

“As far as I’m concerned,” Buddy raised an eyebrow, tracing a new glowing line onto the screen with her finger, “When I am inviting someone new into my family, everything is relevant. Would you pick a sibling or cousin so carelessly, if you had the chance to do so?” 

“But…” Juno screwed up his face even tighter, clearly recognising he was trapped in an unwinnable argument but unwilling to go down without a pointless fight, “Of all the jobs, why did it have to be this?”

With a flick of devastatingly manicured fingers, Buddy blew up the plan into a hologram between them and spoke as if to a small child, “The view offered by that position is unparalleled, you’ll be able to see every table as well as the entrances to the bathrooms and the kitchens, thereby covering every possible means of escape for our mark and you can provide a fitting distraction at a moment’s notice.” 

“Yeah, yeah, I read the plans before I came in here,” Juno waved away her hands patiently pointing to what she was referencing on the miniature, translucent version of the Saturnian wine bar, The Albedo, “I get your point, doesn’t mean I have to like it.” 

“I grant you that,” Buddy allowed, “Look, Juno, I’m not asking for talent worthy of a Saturday night stream, you just have to be functional. Enough that we can pull off what should be this very simple and problem free job. Put away that scowl of yours and have fun with it, if you can.”

Juno groaned irritatedly and stared at the still revolving plan in front of him. A simple job. Place themselves within the bar, watch the exchange of the stolen goods between their marks then wait until they leave and re-steal it right from out their back pocket. Boom, details on where the last piece of their little puzzle was hiding, where the book was. Snatch it up before anyone else could find it and not have to pay the exorbitant price their mark probably did. Don’t rob the shadowy, organised crime seller of the information who had security coming out of their ears, rob the poor idiot who bought the thing. 

Easy. But it sure as hell didn’t have to be fun.

“Just do me a favour,” he sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose, “Please put  _ minimal  _ crew members in earshot. And for the love of all that’s holy,  _ not Vesper.” _

“Brown butter old fashioned please. With a cherry, if you have one to hand.”

A good alias was like stepping into a different skin, Nureyev had always been taught. Everything you were became less than a memory and this new personality took over completely. If you didn’t believe it, then your mark never would. It had to be complete. It had to be total. You essentially needed to die, for as long as required. 

Nureyev still held true to that belief. But sometimes, on a job as easy as this one, he didn’t think it beyond the realm of possibility that your new identity may just happen to have the same favourite drink as you did. 

He leaned against the bar and waited for his drink, allowing his eyes a pass over the scene. The bar was comfortably full without being a press of warm bodies in evening wear, just a generous handful of couples and groups at tables or standing with him at the bar, showing why Saturn was considered to have the most eccentric style of the solar planets. The headdresses were towering, the frills were voluminuous, the skirts were miles in diameter. Nureyev was starting to feel a little overshadowed in his simple black suit with gold embellishments set into the silk. The drinks poured out billows of dry ice and came in every colour on the spectrum apart from the usual ones. The music was the only thing old school, classic, a simple piano played by a very talented individual on a small, circular centre platform. Nureyev smiled, it was funny how some things kept coming back into fashion. How old could seem new if it was just old enough.

And in amongst the noise, familiarity. Rita, dressed as a waitress, moving between the tables, chatting animatedly with everyone she brought drinks to so her rounds took about ten times longer than she needed to. Hopefully that slight, almost unnoticeable lump in the pocket of her trousers was the signal jammer, just in case their mark tried to call him some kind of backup or there was a tracker on the goods. Rita didn’t often come down on jobs like this, her place was usually back on the ship, but she’d been desperate to see the bar itself (it had apparently been the setting for one of the streams she liked so much) and besides, if the signal changed, the jammer would need to hunt it down to take it out and Rita was the only one Buddy trusted with that task. 

Jet was posing as a patron, dressed in smart dark clothes with his hair pulled back rather neatly, looking like he was struggling with the drink that had been set down in front of him. Nureyev couldn’t blame him, the thing had glowing orbs in it that looked like alien eggs. Not that he’d be drinking much of it anyway, in his usual roll as the muscle, just in case things went south. Jet was always a strong, comforting presence when they went to task and Nureyev was really starting to appreciate it. Muscles were certainly something he’d lacked, if he could be said to lack anything aside humility. Speed and cunning he had but his wiry frame had earned him more than a few bruised ribs in the past when jobs had turned irritatingly sour and fists had come out. He’d learned how to avoid those sorts of outcomes fast. 

Nureyev’s eyes continued along, taking in the electric blue lighting fixtures making them look like they were all underwater, sleek leather furnishings, glinting gold and jewels on necks and fingers and wrists. His fingers got that old itch in them but he stilled himself. After the prize was taken, perhaps, but certainly not a minute before. 

But one thing unsettled him deeply about the whole situation. The one face he hadn’t seen. The one face he would know no matter what disguise or mask it wore, the one face he always looked for first. Juno Steel was nowhere his eyes could see. 

Nureyev frowned. He knew Juno was supposed to be posing as an employee of the bar itself, Rita had worked hard forging them employment orders from the owners. He’d expected to see him behind the bar serving drinks and had gotten himself a little excited about flirting with him shamelessly. They’d had some fun experiences with that, playing around with their new personas when they were supposed to be strangers. Nureyev didn’t think that was breaking his golden rule either. He couldn’t imagine anyone not being attracted to Juno Steel. 

But he wasn’t here and that was settling a heavy feeling of dread in the pit of his stomach. Too many unknowns. Too many, all centred around a person he cared about. Recipe for panic sparking through his nerves and poor decisions being made. 

He tried to catch Rita or Jet’s eyes, tried to calmly and subtly convey the extreme anxiety raging behind his easy, playful bar patron’s expression. But at that moment the lighting shifted, swimming and coalescing on that centre platform. There was an old fashioned mic stand there now, clearly a shift in the entertainment to welcome the actual start of the evening. Though some glitzed up aspiring starlet caterwauling their way through some old Earth classics was hardly what he needed right now, when his boyfriend was AWOL in the middle of a mission. He ignored the gathering interest around the platform and scanned the available exits, head full of potential scenarios with the seller being tipped off somehow, grabbing Juno while everyone else was occupied, leaving him bleeding in the alleyways outside the bar…

Nureyev was halfway out of his seat, drink forgotten in front of him when an artificially amplified voice echoed through the bar room and stopped him in his tracks. No introduction, no preamble, 

Just a soft, shy voice buoyed by the sweet piano music, a voice he knew well. 

_ “The night is bitter _

_ The stars have lost their glitter…” _

Nureyev whirled his attention to where the rest of the patrons were focused, on the individual in the long, sleek red dress standing behind the microphone, his outfit simple compared to the others on display but so striking for that. 

_ “The winds grow colder _

_ Suddenly you're older…” _

Nureyev knew he was gaping at him but he didn’t care. His curls were spilling out over the nape of his neck and forehead, looking so soft under the blue lighting. He looked otherworldly, like something fae and unnatural, glitter dusted over his bare shoulders where it would catch the light just so, the material of the dress shifting and spilling when he swayed to the piano. And his  _ voice.  _

_ “And all because of the man that got away.” _

Since when did Juno Steel have a voice like that?

If Nureyev had been able to tear his eyes away, he would have seen Rita standing towards the back of the crowd, jaw on the floor, eyes wide, hand having gone limp so a thin stream of neon green wine was dribbling onto the carpet from the bottle she was holding. He would have seen Jet with an eyebrow raised bemusedly, tapping his foot under the table, attention then caught by a man walking in looking more nervous than anyone out for a good time had any right to. 

But all he saw was Juno. He was clearly shy at first, voice soft and small, his movements a little stiff. But as the song continued and the reactions from the crowd were clearly appreciative, he began to sway his hips slightly, taking his hands away from holding onto the mic stand in a death grip, letting them float at his sides as he sang. And he started to smile, soft and soulful like his song, full of wry bitterness and loss and longing.

_ “Every trick of his you're on to _

_ But, fools will be fools _

_ And where's he gone to?” _

And then suddenly his eye was on Nureyev, picking him out in the crowd, narrowing the space between them to nothing until they could have been alone in his room back on the ship, voices hushed, lips brushing. And Juno’s smile quirked slightly, enough pin Nureyev to the bar, his breath coming out in a long, quiet exhale. He would make his dear heart sing for him, once this was done. 

_ “The road gets rougher _

_ It's lonelier and tougher _

_ With hope you burn up _

_ Tomorrow he will turn up _

_ There's just no letup the live-long night and day…” _

Nureyev could have fallen to his knees in that moment, with how deep and sweet his voice became, drunk without a single sip of his drink. But then Juno’s eye caught his again and slid pointedly over to a table in the shadowier corners. Their mark and the seller. A thin brown envelope being passed under the table, barely visible.

Nureyev went scarlet. Not one of his more professional moments. 

He refocused, taking his crystal glass in his hand and sauntering over, like he was just looking for a better view of the stage, an easy thing to feign now Juno’s hands were resting on his chest in a gentle pantomime of heartbreak that was so very distracting. The mark was just getting up, clearly eager to make a quick exit. It was amateurish in the extreme, a millionaire really should have some more self awareness. 

It was the simplest thing. Bump into him, the drink cascading over them both. Apologetic pleasantries, outraged exclamations. Pat ineffectually with a nearby napkin. Slip the envelope from the inner pocket and replace with a blank to mimic the weight. Pretend to only just notice that you have just swilled one of the richest men on Saturn and bid a hasty, flustered exit. Child’s play, as smooth and silken as when he’d first mastered the maneuver at thirteen. 

Nureyev allowed himself a self satisfied smile, once he was out of view. It was good to know that some things would never go to rust.

He headed back to the stage, stopping to gently tip the wine bottle in Rita’s hand the right way then claim it for himself, taking a seat directly in front of the stage before tipping it to his lips, eyes fixed on Juno, a self satisfied smirk on his lips. 

_ “Ever since this world began _

_ There is nothing sadder than _

_ A one-man woman looking for _

_ The man that got away _

_ The man that got away.” _

There were a lot of rules when it came to working jobs, false facing, slipping on alibis like a second skin. 

But no one said you couldn’t have fun.

Later, much later, Juno’s voice was raw and breaking from a full night of singing and the noises Nureyev had been drawing from him for the last three hours. 

Considering his work done for now and smiling smugly, Nureyev let him fall back against his bed, curling around him and pillowing his head on his broad chest. There was still glitter clinging to his skin that would likely end up on Nureyev and refuse to budge for days but he couldn’t make himself care about that right now. 

“Oh my god…” Juno was still panting, chest heaving, heart hammering against Nureyev’s ear, “I mean...oh my god, Nureyev…”

Nureyev chuckled, pressing a kiss to the warm skin beneath his head, “I rather enjoyed it too, dear heart. And I did say you’d be fairly rewarded for your performance, didn’t I?”

“I thought you meant you were gonna buy me a drink or something,” Juno laughed breathlessly, hands coming up to stroke through Nureyev’s soft hair, sort out where it was matted at the back from their efforts, “Not  _ that.” _

“Well, I did say the reward would fit the quality of your performance...and that was pretty spectacular.”

He heard the blush in Juno’s voice rather than saw it, he was far too comfortable in his current position, “Ah...I mean, I was alright. Just something I used to do when I was younger.”

“Oh?” Nureyev’s interest was sparked but he hid that. Juno spoke about his past so infrequently, even with all of their lengthy conversations before they’d fallen back into bed with each other. It was clearly still a wound and Nureyev had no desire to poke it. 

“Yeah,” Juno continued on, “My brother was always in the school productions, even though it was always kind of crappy and the sets were junk and most kids' parents wouldn’t even come, he still lit up when it came back around. And because it was better than sitting on the curb waiting for him for hours, I signed up too. He was the real talent, Ben could sing, dance, act...everything. I could carry enough of a tune to get shoved into some minor roles but...whenever I sang, even if it was just a few lines, he’d go crazy applauding for me and grinning a mile wide. Really, I was just doing it to see him smile. I knew it made him happy when I joined in.”

Nureyev smiled gently at that, hand reaching out to entwine his fingers with Juno’s, “I’m sure he’d have loved to see you sing tonight.”

“Oh, Ben would have laughed his ass off seeing me up there trying to be all femme fatale,” Juno hummed, holding Nureyev’s hand just as tightly, “But...yeah. It was hard not to think of him while I was up there.”

“And...what would he have made of the man drinking wine and watching you all gooey eyed, hm?”

“That asshole?” Juno cuddled Nureyev closer with his free arm, “Nah...he’d have liked you. He’d have realised you’re good for me.”

Nureyev buried his face in the crook of Juno’s neck, feeling a burst of delight in his chest at that, at the idea that he was good for someone. 

And that someone was good for him. 

**Author's Note:**

> Pleeeeease consider leaving a comment! It means so much to me. Or come chat on Tumblr, I'm @mollymauk-teafleak


End file.
